Stepbrother Thief(26)

My stepbrother avoids Mathis with ease, gliding back on feet as sure and nimble as a cat's, watching as my boyfriend stumbles into a case of jewelry and grunts.

Meanwhile, I stand there like a complete idiot, knowing I can't very well run away from all this.

Fuck.

Mathis makes another growling sound in his throat and spins—right into Gill's fist. My stepbrother doesn't break a sweat when he reaches out and slams his knuckles into Mathis's face. The man drops like a sack, just crumples to the floor with a bloody nose and a groan.

I scream again, another real sound, and kneel down to roll Mathis over, checking to make sure he's still alive. Sounds silly, I know, but Gill is strong, crazy strong.

“Get up.”

Gill has the gun on me again, his voice just as hard and cruel as it was before. Only … this time there's a little bit of heat in all that ice. I watch as he grits his teeth, the muscles in his jaw working furiously as he tries to process what just happened.

I do the same, staring up at him for a moment before I realize what that strain is that I hear in Gilleon's voice.

It's jealousy.





I wake up early the next morning, my heart pounding in my chest, sweat beading on my forehead. It's just starting to get light outside, dawn cresting the horizon and casting its golden fingers across the surface of the lake.

I stand up and open the doors to the balcony, not caring that I'm still in my underwear, and lean over the edge of the white railing, closing my eyes against the sharp bite of autumn air. I need to stop dreaming about Gilleon, but I don't know how to quit. Even unconscious I'm addicted to memories; I can still see the clench of Gill's jaw, hear that small spike of heat in his voice.

But I can't dwell on it.

“Shit.” I cross my arms on the railing and lean my forehead against them.

“You look like you could use a cup of coffee.”

I jerk my head up at the sound of Gill's voice and peer over the edge of the railing at him.

For whatever inexplicable reason, he's standing on the driveway near his car, dressed in a pale blue shirt, jeans, and work boots. His dark hair is wet, like he just showered, and his face is freshly shaved again.

I stare down at him from the second floor, hoping the angle at which I'm standing and the railing are enough to keep him from seeing the emerald green panties I'm sporting. I mean, it's not as if he hasn't seen all of this before, but … it's not his to look at anymore.

I purse my lips.

“What part of I want you to stay away from me do you not understand?” I ask, looking down at him, my legs crossed beneath and behind me as I lean forward over the railing, gold hair draping down on either side of my face.

Gill stares up at me, a wry smile building on his lips.

“To be fair, I am away from you right now. Two full stories down.” He pauses, smirks a little, the expression reminding me so much of better times that my chest gets tight. “And still in view of your underwear.”

I stand up straight, proving that I don't give two shits, and lean sideways against the railing, knowing the curvy pale line of my hip is showing. If Gill's grown into a man since he's left, then I've become a woman. I suppose if he's already looking, I might as well show him what he's missing. Must be all the stress and the anxiety getting to me, I think. Because I feel like I should have more of a reaction to being an accessory in a high stakes international jewelry heist. Or maybe I really am just crazy?

“Okay,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest, fully aware that my breasts are perky, nipples erect in the cool morning air. “I'll come down for coffee, but only so we can discuss … this.” I gesture between us and move back into the bedroom, yanking off my T-shirt and dropping my panties to the floor. A quick shower later and I'm pulling on a square-neck sheath dress in white, belting it at the waist with a strip of thin, black leather, and thanking the Parisian designer Roland Mouret for creating something that I can feel confident enough in to face my stepbrother.

I don't have time to get my hair right, so I give it a quick blowout with the blowdryer I stole from the hotel, and line my eyes with the dark pencil that Aveline gave me. My mother's necklace swings enticingly as I sit in one of the two chairs in the sitting room and slip on some red platform pumps that are way too fabulous for this early in the morning.

“I am beautiful just the way I am,” I tell myself as I stand up and check myself in the mirror on the back of the bathroom door. “I wear the clothes; the clothes do not wear me.” I take a massive breath and let myself out into the hallway, moving slowly and praying that I don't wake either Cliff or Solène.

I take the back staircase, the one that leads directly into the kitchen, and find Gill already waiting for me at the bottom, pouring a cup of steaming hot coffee into a navy blue mug. He turns at the sound of my heels, and I know, know, for a fucking fact that his jaw clenches and his breath hitches at the sight of me. He even manages to spill some of the steaming coffee on the table.